


i caught your fever, i'll be feeling it forever

by volchitsae



Series: affection and acid reflux [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volchitsae/pseuds/volchitsae
Summary: Ever since the day Sakusa basically barged into Atsumu’s apartment out of Good Samaritan concern, he spends probably a concerning amount of time each day wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake.No, the problem isn’t Atsumu. But maybe it is, considering he’s the reason for what Sakusa is suffering from. He would classify it as your run-of-the-millinfatuation.He knows all the symptoms. Sometimes his fingers stop working when holding his pen. Sometimes he’s more nervous and sweatier, easier to fluster. Sakusa feels a little off-kilter when he’s around Atsumu, and he’s sure it’s different to his baseline because he’s cross examined it against how he feels when around his classmates, which is normal.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: affection and acid reflux [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754059
Comments: 49
Kudos: 784





	1. my lights stay up, but your city sleeps

Ever since the day Sakusa basically barged into Atsumu’s apartment out of Good Samaritan concern, he spends probably a concerning amount of time each day wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake.

No, the problem isn’t Atsumu. But maybe it is, considering he’s the reason for what Sakusa is suffering from. He would classify it as your run-of-the-mill _infatuation_.

He knows all the symptoms. Sometimes his fingers stop working when holding his pen. Sometimes he’s more nervous and sweatier, easier to fluster. Sakusa feels a little off-kilter when he’s around Atsumu, and he’s sure it’s different to his baseline because he’s cross examined it against how he feels when around his classmates, which is normal.

He knows exactly who – or what – to blame. Behold the medial forebrain bundle: also known as the pleasure centre or the reward circuit of the brain, it consists of fibres that connect various regions of the brain that function in pleasure and gratification. It includes the prefrontal cortex in charge of decision making, the amygdala as a part of emotional responses, and the hypothalamus, one of the main regulators of the nervous system via hormones.

Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, norepinephrine, adrenaline – for the sweatiness, for his heart picking up speed, for the quiet sense of satisfaction when he can make Atsumu laugh, for all the times Sakusa’s stared a little too long at his sharp grin or at the glint in his eye when he’s got the upper hand on a mock debate against his classmates over video chat.

They’ve become unlikely friends ever since Sakusa ignored his critical thinking abilities and knocked on Atsumu’s door. Being neighbours at the same university can do that, Sakusa supposes; his labs and Atsumu’s classes run late on the same days and then end up taking the train home together, or they start at the same time and Atsumu is just enough of a jackass that he pushes his way through to seats where they, and specifically Sakusa, can sit at the end with the least amount of people nearby. Atsumu had been on the receiving end of Sakusa’s pitch black mood and picked up the routine after Sakusa was trapped against a day camp of grade school children one morning, who asked him a lot of questions about his surgical mask and tried opening the zippers on his bag.

Their proximity bleeds into the rest of Sakusa’s life even outside of school, however reluctant he is about it. Atsumu is there at his door more often than not to study in the evenings even when they’ve taken the train home together. He hears Atsumu preparing dinner through the wall at the same time he is because Atsumu’s singing Taylor Swift really aggressively, and after dinner, there’s a knock on his door when he’s started an assignment.

“Omi-Omi! What’s crackin’?”

“These knuckles,” Sakusa says, one hand posed and one hand holding his diagram of the muscles of the hand. He wiggles his fingers to watch the flexor digitorum profundus tendons move.

Atsumu fakes a few punches towards Sakusa who continues looking at him with his hand raised.

He sighs. “My clock tickin’ is super loud and annoying. I just can’t drown it out. Can I study with ya? You have such nice _silent_ digital clocks.” He leans against the doorway with two energy drink cans clutched in one hand.

“It’s too bad you can’t do as my clocks do and be silent.” Sakusa lets him in, flicking on the kitchen light for Atsumu spread his books across the table.

Atsumu freezes partway through a loud mouthful of banana chips from the little baggie he’s brought and grins. Sakusa makes a face at the gross half chewed chips and perches on his desk chair in the corner of the living room to get back to work.

Sakusa had been worried about the productivity of these study sessions (“Omi-kun, you can just call it _hangin’ out_ ,”), but if there’s someone competitive and studious enough it’s Atsumu. Evern though their classes and degrees are unrelated, they compare grades.

“90! Suck it, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu turns his laptop around for Sakusa to see.

“It’s 5-5,” Sakusa says with a smug laugh, because of course they’re keeping track. “I also got 90.” Atsumu groans.

They settle into concentrated silence fairly quickly with whatever Atsumu wants to listen to on in the background. Atsumu drums his pencil on the tabletop and hums off tune and it’s not nearly as annoying as Sakusa thinks it would be. If it’s too much, Sakusa just puts on his headphones and they whine about school at each other when they take breaks.

“’M gonna kill Tatsuya,” Atsumu grits out, slamming his pencil onto the table. “I sent a link for a Wikipedia page and he keeps saying s’not a legitimate source. I meant the fuckin’ _sources_ on Wikipedia, he can’t be this dumb.”

“God bless Wikipedia,” Sakusa says. “Saved my ass on more than one occasion.”

“Ah, yes, your fabled gluteus maximus. God bless indeed.”

Sakusa just snorts and flips the page in his textbook. “You look at enough diagrams and practice on enough actors that the human body stops looking like the human body.”

“And what d’you see when ya look at me?” Atsumu sticks one leg out in the air.

“Sleep deprivation and overdosage on caffeine.”

“Omi-kun, c’mon, you know I don’t drink energy drinks _that_ often.”

“You’re going to give yourself cardiac arrhythmia. I do _not_ want you dying in this apartment, I’m going to lose the deposit.”

“And here I thought you’d cradle me in your arms, Pieta style. You’re a doctor, Omi-kun, that’s the appropriate response.”

“That’s what the Grim Reaper will do. Or he’ll just drag you by one ankle as you deserve.”

Atsumu sticks his leg out again and mimics being yanked by the Grim Reaper straight into the afterlife, which makes Sakusa properly laugh this time. He shakes his head and keeps his eyes on his notes, missing the way Atsumu’s gaze lingers on his smile.

Sakusa’s a homebody. It’s clear to everyone and especially to himself; he doesn’t go out to eat that often because of the uncertainty of the food preparation, and he likes cooking because he can take his mind off school. It’s two birds with one stone when he spends less at restaurants. Plus, he can apply his modules on nutrition, and he finds it a fun puzzle to cram all the food groups into his daily meals. Whole wheat grains, protein, dark leafy vegetables for fibre, fruit for a snack. He keeps a little food diary on a phone application. There’s a sort of comfort from being meticulous about it; plus, when he scrolls back, he has recipe ideas that he knows are plenty healthy.

Atsumu’s the one who gets Sakusa out of the house once in a while on the weekends or on Friday nights when there’s more free time than during the week. It usually takes some pestering and whining on Atsumu’s behalf because Sakusa really never feels like going and thinks he’ll regret leaving the house, but he always ends up having a good time, he’ll admit.

They’re not dates, but they go eat spicy pork ramen on a rainy evening, conveyor belt sushi where Sakusa can peer at the sushi chefs while they slice fish, and shabu-shabu where they have their own little gas stoves and pots of vegetables and meats.

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Sakusa says, plucking the phone out of Atsumu’s hand because he sees a menu and it’s the fourth time Atsumu is getting takeout for himself this week.

Atsumu stumbles in front of him, reaching for the phone as Sakusa dangles it over their heads as they wait for the train. “Omi-Omi, please? I promise it’s healthy, pho and Vietnamese salad rolls are full of meat and vegetables!”

“Do you not cook?”

Atsumu rakes one hand through his hair. “Not really? Osamu, my twin, he’s always been the one cookin’. Culinary school and all that.”

“The salt in the broth is pretty high from takeout places, and you’ve had other takeout this week.”

“Oh, ya think you can do better?”

Sakusa unlocks his phone to show Atsumu the list of recipes he has. “I know I can.”

“So you’re making dinner for us tonight? Awesome, see you at your place at 7,” Atsumu says. He manages to snatch the phone back while Sakusa reels and tuck it into his pocket, shooting a grin at Sakusa in victory.

Sakusa feels himself blush, pulling his mask up by the nosebridge to hide his warm face. His brain fills him in: blushing is a phenomenon where the capillaries nearer to the surface dilate from adrenaline being released. The facial skin has more capillaries and more blood vessels than other areas of the body, so this response to embarrassment is physiologically known.

It doesn’t mean he likes it. He kind of wants to dissolve.

“We’ll make it to the apartment exactly at 7.”

“Okay, so dinner at 7:30 for time to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?”

“For _dinner_? Omi-Omi, I’ve gotta shower, unless you really want to be efficient and join me.” Sakusa rolls his eyes and Atsumu snickers.

“7:30. Bring your stuff, I have a test to study for.”

“Ah, studying. So romantic,” Atsumu sighs, and they get onto the train. Sakusa opens up his phone app once he’s seated to scroll through recipes and tries to remember what exactly is in the fridge. Atsumu tries to lean in to see but backs off with hands raised when Sakusa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Surprise me, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu shows up with flowers, a few yellow tulips wrapped in wax paper.

“What,” Sakusa says, to ignore the loud thump of his heart. He’s absolutely not serious about this, is he?

“I got strong armed into buyin’ some from a street vendor a few days ago, and your place needs some sprucin’ up,” Atsumu shrugs, his hair still damp at the ends from his shower. The white button up he’s changed into (with grey sweatpants instead of today’s jeans – it’s quite the outfit) is speckled with drops of water.

“I have my bear paw succulent and that’s not spruced up enough for you? Has this wax paper been used before?”

“Yeah, for those seven ingredient peanut butter cookies I made last week.” Atsumu chuckles when Sakusa scowls and tosses the wax paper away to replace it with the tallest water glass he owns. Outside of the flowers, it’s business as usual when Atsumu dumps his backpack onto the kitchen chair and fishes out his laptop and notebook. Then, as usual, he gets distracted with what Sakusa’s up to in the kitchen.

Atsumu flicks through the recipes in a binder that Sakusa’s printed out using the school printers.

“Ya got no fun snacks or sweets in here?”

“There’s plenty of baked goods.” Sakusa points at the zucchini bread recipe while he mixes up a sauce and slices vegetables for japchae.

“I don’t see any good ol’fashioned chocolate chip cookies, Omi-Omi. Brownies? Snickerdoodles?”

“I don’t like eating with my hands,” Sakusa mumbles, and Atsumu hums neutrally in response and flips to the next page.

The japchae turns out well, to Sakusa’s relief. Atsumu declares he cannot be outdone by Sakusa or his twin for that matter, and their schedule then changes to include alternating cooking days either at Atsumu’s or Sakusa’s. They try most of Sakusa’s recipes which are pretty simple, such as miso with fish or pork and ginger rice, and hearty root soups.

“I feel like ‘m eatin like a monk, where’s the artery cloggin’ saturated fats? Where’s the _butter_? Omi-kun, everything is made better by adding heapin’ amounts of butter,” Atsumu says, when they’re on the way back from the local grocery store. Their tote bags are filled with vegetables.

“Your kidneys and liver thank me as well as your arteries.”

There’s another Atsumu waiting at the door with grey hair; this must be Osamu. He pockets his phone when he sees them climb up the stairs.

“Hey, you must be the Sakusa ‘Tsumu’s always goin’ on about. I’m Osamu. Your marinated salmon was fuckin’ awesome, do you have a recipe?”

Atsumu is unfazed from being ignored by his brother and thrusts the grocery bags he’s carrying into Osamu’s hands.

“No! Get away, ‘Samu, I’m supposed to be his favourite twin.”

Sakusa unlocks his door. “He complimented my salmon marinade, automatic favourite.” Atsumu whirls around.

“Omi-kun, has our cooking meant nothin’ to you? I feel so _betrayed_ ,” Atsumu whines. Sakusa doesn’t react to Osamu’s intrigued glance.

“What’re ya here for, anyway?” The twins follow Sakusa into his apartment with the groceries and Osamu swings his backpack off to deliver onigiri.

“Salmon roe and pickled plum, ‘cause you hadn’t texted me restaurant ratings in a while and I thought you died or somethin’. Turns out you were actually feeding yourself. Who woulda thought you could _actually_ cook – ” Osamu says, and shields his face when Atsumu swings at him, unable to reply because he has stuffed his face with half a rice ball.

Sakusa goes for the pickled plum ones. “Thanks,” he says. He’ll save it for a study snack later.

“Are those your favourite? Learn somethin’ new every day,” Atsumu says. “Y’wanna stick around for dinner, ‘Samu? It’s ground chicken rice bowl and miso soup.”

“Nah, I ate already. Thanks though; I’ll get that salmon recipe from you some other time, Sakusa. Nice meetin’ ya.” He lifts a peace sign to them with an unreadable expression that he shoots at Atsumu but morphs into regular politeness to Sakusa.

These kinds of odd expressions happen more and more often around Sakusa when Atsumu is around, especially with his classmates. Sakusa isn’t dumb, and it’s definitely gotten to the point where his classmates think they’re dating, but he refuses to be the one to bring it up to Atsumu first. They know when to expect Atsumu lingering in the hallway after a lab and tease Sakusa about it.

“Sakusa-kun, he’s here! Go on, we can fill in the rest of the answers, go on your date,” Futaba-san says, her bobbed hair catching on her cheek as she whirls around from looking at the door. Akane-san shakes her head to mirror Sakusa’s exasperation and they continue jotting down notes into their lab books.

“We’re neighbours,” he says, continuing to adjust the eyepiece of the microscope. “He can wait.” Futaba-san coos at Atsumu’s looks and Sakusa fights with himself from mentioning what Atsumu looks like when he’s delirious from two energy drinks chugged at 2am and counting.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says once he’s left lab, smile bright and his hands in his pockets as they walk side by side. “How was lab?”

“Fine. Futaba-san thinks you’re handsome.” Atsumu glances through the window and gives a leisurely wave.

“She’d be right. I trust her judgement.”

“I don’t. She said she saw a hairline fracture in the tibula x-ray when there’s no bone that exists called the tibula. It’s the fibula and tibia.”

Their schedule is jostled when the end of the year nears. Sakusa’s year of med students are set to go on a three-week excursion to several different remote towns out of the city, and finals are being crammed in the time before they go on their trip. Sakusa thinks he has terminology spilling out of his ears.

Instead of studying at home after lab this time, they make their way to the science library to meet up with Hinata, Kageyama, Bokuto, and Akaashi. Hinata had asked through Atsumu for Sakusa’s help with wrist anatomy and the other parts of the upper limbs. He doesn’t know why Kageyama, Bokuto, and Akaashi are there, but if it’s Hinata, it makes sense that he’s surrounded by people.

“Omi-kun, you already know Shouyou, but this is Tobio-kun, Bokuto, and Akaashi. Tobio and Bokuto are the all-star hunks on the volleyball team with Shouyou, and Akaashi is probably the loveliest and least annoyin’ literature student I’ve ever met. Y’all, this is Omi-kun, future doctor.” Sakusa ducks his head to acknowledge them and they exchange greetings.

“I’m Sakusa. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Omi-san! Long time no see.” Hinata is cheerful as always, books already open. Kageyama sits next to him with a mix of anatomy and English notes, Bokuto has an intricate diagram of a plant he’s drawing and labelling, and Akaashi is typing up what looks to be an essay in English.

“Hey, Hinata. What did you need help with?”

Hinata flips to a diagram of the wrist. “I’m having trouble with the carpal tunnel,” he says, and Sakusa nods while cleaning the table spot where he’s seated with a sanitizing wipe.

“Sure. Just the bones or the tendons too?” Hinata nods back. Atsumu settles with his textbooks and blows his bangs out of his eyes and directs a lazy smile at the group.

“Are ya happy to be back in Japan, Tobio-kun? How was your term in the Netherlands?” Kageyama blinks from his own wrist diagram he’s been looking at.

“It was good. There was a lot of rain there, and they mostly use bicycles to get around. The people were polite and helpful; I learned a lot,” Kageyama says, and that straightforward and nearly boring explanation is definitely not what he expected out of someone who’s partners with Hinata. Kageyama is calm, a little exasperated by Hinata, and they bicker fondly over their notes while Sakusa tries to get them on track.

His brain whispers that _someone like Atsumu_ was who he expected, but he tells it to shut up and focus on the conversation.

“Heard the good ol’ weed is legal there,” Bokuto says with an eyebrow wiggle, and Atsumu and Sakusa snort. Akaashi closes his hand over Bokuto’s from finishing the doodle of the cannabis leaf on the corner of his page with an amused “Bokuto-san, please.”

“Did ya try it, Tobio-kun?” Atsumu’s eyebrows raise when Kageyama shakes his head no. “Aw, I would’ve. S’not like it’s illegal here, but it’s definitely more regulated.” He nudges Sakusa.

“Ya gotta get onto a plane somewhere nice like Tobio-kun, Omi-Omi. You’re only heading out a few miles from here to who knows where.”

For some reason, that irks Sakusa. He brushes it away.

“At least I’m still where there’s familiar food and language,” he replies, and explains Atsumu’s comment to the rest of the group with “My class is heading out to the country for three weeks after finals.” Kageyama nods.

“The amount of English I had to use on top of the different food was hard to get used to. I had trouble finding even furikake.” Hinata gasps, scandalized, and the whole group gets distracted with what Japanese staples were missing in the Netherlands.

Sakusa watches Atsumu carefully throughout this evening’s study period when Hinata decides to review on his own for a bit and Kageyama asks Akaashi for English help. He flicks through his flashcards and looks up at Atsumu every now and then, who’s got earphones in and is typing heatedly at a presentation he is putting together for a class.

He seems to be okay. He flirts with everyone at the table as is the Atsumu way of things and actually pesters Sakusa less because he’s catching up with everyone else. It’s relieving, almost – Sakusa figures seeing Hinata with Kageyama for the first time in a while might’ve been difficult.

Then he freezes, because what on earth is he doing thinking so hard about Atsumu?

 _Oh, no you don’t, dopamine_ , he thinks, and flips his page with enough aggression that Atsumu notices from his laptop. Atsumu pulls one earphone out.

“You okay, Omi-Omi? Wanna take a break?”

Sakusa shakes his head no and buries his nose further into his book. Atsumu huffs with amusement and also returns to work.

When they’re on the train home, Sakusa works up the nerve to ask Atsumu about it.

“Are you okay after seeing Hinata and Kageyama after so long?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh,” Sakusa says, intelligently. Atsumu chuckles.

“Oh, _that_. M’fine, m’fine. I thought you’d ask about my presentation. Turns out your heart can actually beat, huh?”

“It’s the reason why I’m alive right now.”

“With the way you’ve been studyin’, Omi-Omi, I’d have taken you for a zombie. Shouyou,” he sighs, and settles back in his seat, the back of his head against the window. “He’s the kinda guy you can’t stay mad at or hold a grudge against, y’know? It doesn’t sting as much as I thought it would. Tobio’s good for him, and time heals all wounds, as they say.”

Sakusa nods and burrows deeper into his backpack on his lap. He’s tired; but he lists out the modules he should go over one more time in his head when he gets home.

The next week passes with Sakusa withdrawing into his apartment a lot more to study, with meal prepping on Sundays when he has more time so he doesn’t have to cook during the week and can study more then. He doesn’t have the heart to turn Atsumu away when he shows up at the door to study together, but he does take less breaks and speaks even less whenever he does.

He often stays up even after Atsumu calls it a night. His typical med school eyebags deepen into bruises. He can tell through Atsumu’s concerned glances that Atsumu has noticed the change, but he stubbornly perseveres; it’s not even about their silly rivalry anymore, but the rivalry against himself. He has to do well. His success as a future medical professional depends on it.

He’s caught one night when there’s a knock on the door. Sakusa glances at the clock – 3:47am. Rubbing at his sore eyes, he glances through the eyehole of the door and opens it when it’s just Atsumu.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu yawns. He’s sleep mussed, fluffy blonde tufts sticking up in fifty different directions and his soft sleep shirt and pants rumpled. Sakusa feels sleepy just looking at him. He nearly yawns as well but breathes in deeply to suppress it.

“Why are you awake?”

“Saw your light comin’ in from th’ balcony when I got up for some water.” Sakusa feels a pang of guilt for waking Atsumu up; he had the blinds open to let in the sunset, but forgot to close them when night set in.

“Why’re _you_ awake?”

Sakusa lifts up his flashcards as an answer.

“It’s 4am, don’tcha have class at 9 tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and?"

“We get on the train at 8.”

“I’m fine with four hours of sleep.”

“I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t seem healthy. Were ya even goin’ to sleep right now?” He raises an eyebrow at Sakusa’s silence.

“Sacrifices need to be made if I’m going to be a doctor.”

“Sacrificin’ your health seems a _little_ hypocritical, Omi-Omi. Your patients in the country need a well-rested doctor, or who else would they have to help?”

Sakusa scowls. “Fine. I’ll go to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Night, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, and waves lazily through another yawn. This time, Sakusa doesn’t suppress his own.

Sakusa keeps up with the late nights even after this confrontation as classes end and he starts his set of final exams. He sees Atsumu even less because Atsumu’s with his law friends also preparing for their week of hell.

He feels an odd sense of relief and loneliness; for the first, he can study all he likes without Atsumu rightfully nagging at him, and for the second, well. He ignores it.

There’s a knock on his door the night after he’s written his final exam; because everything is awful, it’s also the night before he has to be up to catch a train several hours outside of the city for his trip. Sakusa is running on very, very few hours of sleep. He gets up off the floor next to his duffel bag and suitcase and hears his knees crack on the way to the door.

“Atsumu, I swear to god, I will kill you in every way I know how.”

“Sounds kinky. Also, I’m the expert in criminal law here.”

“Leave me alone,” Sakusa growls.

Atsumu ignores him. “We meet again, stranger, at 4am. How’re ya gonna go to a backwoods town n’ survive if you’re not gonna sleep?”

Sakusa scoffs. “Backwoods? What do you even mean by that, it’s not like it’s the 18th century. Why aren’t you asleep? Who’s hypocritical now?”

Atsumu shakes his half empty Red Bull can. “I never said I was a paragon of health, I said I was a lawyer. You sure they’ve got runnin’ water? Electricity for _studyin_ ’?”

And something in that, the jab at his studying habits he knows deep down are damaging, the odd superiority about the city just like the comment from the group study, the fatigue of being run over by exams and having to pack the night before a long trip –

"Don't pity us, or them,” he snaps. “Nothing can progress if you just talk about how awful it is without thinking of ways to help. We're going there to help. "

Atsumu blinks, taken aback by the ferocity in Sakusa's response.

“Omi-kun, I didn’t mean – “

“I need to pack,” Sakusa says, turning away. He puts his headphones on to muffle the noises of his door and Atsumu’s door closing behind him.

He swaps the electronic train tickets he has loaded on his train card to an earlier departure time. Atsumu had wanted to see him off, but Sakusa feels like he needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

The next morning, he tips his head back against the headrest of the train seat. The sunrise is just starting to break through the mist of the morning. He didn’t see last night, but Atsumu had left some washed grapes for him. Sakusa closes his eyes and clasps his hands around the baggie of grapes and tries to nap.


	2. it's a different world when you're not here with me

He meets with Futaba-san and Akane-san at the small station, along with their supervisor, and set off on foot from the station to the town. Their class has split up into threes or fours and have been sent to rural towns that have had a partnership with the university for a few years. It’s meant to allow students to experience rural medicine and community, because it’s possible to have a residency here, and in their future as professionals, calls to rural areas are possible, too. 

They’re not meant to officially diagnose and treat patients. Their supervisor, a calm man in his thirties, is a practicing family doctor and ultimately makes the final decisions. Sakusa, Futaba, and Akane are meant to shadow and discuss symptoms of patients and come up with their own conclusions to see what their supervisor thinks.

It’s peaceful and idyllic with a mixture of cobblestone and asphalt roads. The deciduous trees, freshly sprouting in the spring breeze, lean over the buildings like old friends, and a gently flowing river meanders through the middle of the town. Some dogs and cat roam freely and sniff at the children and teens who are on their way to school about two kilometers away. The houses and local businesses are packed tightly against one another and Sakusa feels like they see nearly everyone in town on their way to their host, who is a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and streaks of grey through her black hair.

She sets them up on the second floor of the house and they decide to take a futon to each corner of the room. There’s a balcony that hangs over the river. Sakusa slides open the wooden door to admire the water. 

They’re welcomed with a hearty lunch that the townsfolk have put together; Sakusa sneaks his utensils out from their cloth pouch in his pocket when they eat. Their supervisor sets up the medical equipment and medicine they brought along on the main floor of their host’s house. 

“Aren’t we taking up too much of your space?” The main floor is sparsely furnished with a few chairs, one bedroom, and the kitchen and bathroom are at the back of the house. It seems like they’ll be examining some patients in the bedroom. 

Their host shakes her head no. “This house has been used for students like you ever since we joined the program,” she says. “I live next door and have plenty of space, don’t you worry about me.”

Their first major task is to make sure the townsfolk are updated with the necessary vaccines, such as shingles for the elderly, and they book appointments throughout their three week stay as people are available. The rest of their days are occupied with rotating shifts on making house visits to those who call and ask to see someone, maintaining paperwork, and seeing patients on the main floor of their lodge if people opt to come by instead of a house visit. 

They treat minor illnesses and prescribe antibiotics they’ve brought such as ear and throat infections. The school at one point asks them to come in to give a presentation on sex education to the preteens and teenagers. It’s three parts serious and one part hilarious because it’s Sakusa, Futaba, and Akane talking about the bodily and hormonal changes they should expect, plus safer sex education through explanations of birth control and a demonstration of how to use condoms (Sakusa rolls one onto a banana and successfully remains serious; he would've brought a wooden penis for the sake of accuracy if he knew they'd be doing sex ed). They discuss consent and communication and host an anonymous Q&A box where students write down their questions.

“Where should I store condoms?” Sakusa reads. He’s still holding the banana with the condom on it.

“Not on a banana,” he starts, which makes the class laugh. “Not in your wallet, either. The friction could make it tear. Keep it in the box in a drawer or something; if you’re carrying it with you on the chance you might use it, keep it in a pocket that isn’t the back pocket of your pants where it might get sat on or bent. If it isn’t used, put it back with your stash.”

He hears Atsumu’s voice saying don’t be silly wrap your willy and purses his lips not to laugh.

“Always use them,” Akane adds. “They protect against STIs and pregnancy and can be converted into a dental dam for oral sex. If your partner pressures you into not using one, especially for penis-in-vagina sex, you can put them with the opened condom: in the trash.” Sakusa nods in agreement.

“Open communication and honesty are super important,” says Futaba. “It’s not going to be fun or feel good if you don’t tell your partners what you like or don’t like about what you’re doing together.”

They’re given a lot of homemade food in lieu of payments for their services – Sakusa dutifully logs these, happy that they’re nutritious and balanced; steamed fish with rice, pork dumplings, salads, muffins. He keeps to himself when they get to have breaks.

He checks his phone on one such break, unhooking his mask to dangle from one ear as he sits cross legged on the balcony. The air pollution is decreased this far from the city and he breathes in the clean air. The sunset blinks off the surface of the water and reflects off his phone screen.

Zero messages. 

It’s completely expected; cellphone service is nonexistent here. Sakusa feels like he’s curbed his habit of tapping at his phone every few minutes. It’s also been the longest stretch of time he hasn’t spoken to Atsumu. Sakusa takes a picture of the sunset and of the cat that hops from the roof and curls up near him to nap in the last of the evening sun. He wonders if Atsumu’s exams have gone well, and if he’s gorged himself on some takeout in celebration. 

Sakusa types out and retypes apologies and hellos knowing he can’t send them. He owes Atsumu some kind of takeout or a meal at a restaurant for his outburst, honestly. Sakusa shakes his head at himself and turns in for the day.

Their biggest scare during their trip is when a nine-year-old boy comes down with a case of pneumonia after a previous bout of influenza. Sakusa confirms the symptoms of high fever, crackling noises of his lungs through the stethoscope, and pain when he coughs or is asked to breathe deeply. Akane samples blood and the phlegm he coughs up along with a nasal swab to check for bacterial growth and antibiotic susceptibility. 

“No bacteremia, tuberculosis negative, Gram stain positive,” Futaba says, peering through the lightest microscope they could carry with them. “Growth on the plates. Staph aureus is my guess.”

Sakusa’s brow furrows. “The susceptibility?”

“Methicillin-resistant,” Akane says, eyes widening with fear as she holds up the plates. Sakusa’s skin crawls. He takes a few calm breaths to keep himself from bolting into the shower to scrub until his skin is raw. 

Methicillin-resistant _Staphylococcus aureus_ , or MRSA, is a multidrug resistant bacterium that’s been giving hospitals major headaches since most traditional antibiotics don’t work to kill it. Most people are colonized with Staph aureus in their noses and on their skin but aren’t susceptible to infection because they’re healthy. This boy, after his flu, must have developed the infection after his immune system took a hit. MRSA is most common in hospitals since that’s where all the different antibiotics are present; where exactly this strain came from is something they need to figure out.

Their supervisor, hovering over their shoulders, agrees with the test results and their assessments. He immediately heads for the station where cellphone service is present to calls for more supplies for testing as well as nasal antibiotics and antimicrobial wipes. 

“We might have to stay a few weeks longer than expected depending on how extensive the spread is. I’ll contact your families if need be,” he says. They nod. It’s early in the day when they diagnose the boy, and they set on swabbing themselves as well as much of the rest of the community as they can to check how far exactly this has spread. 

MRSA is no joke, but the confirmation of it here hits Sakusa harder than his classmates would ever expect. As a child, he’d always been down with a flu, somehow sickly when most children weren’t. His absences from school paired with his aloof nature made him a lonely child, and when he had contracted a new strain of MRSA that developed into pneumonia after a visit to do some tests at the hospital, he’d been stuck in said hospital for weeks in isolation as they tried antibiotic after antibiotic.

The fully covered nurses and doctors were creepy, as a kid. He hated the squeak of their rubber boots on the tile. The isolation to prevent spread of MRSA through the hospital left him with nothing to do, and made him feel even lonelier especially because his parents couldn’t be with him or bring anything fun for him to do after they confirmed they weren’t colonized.

“I’m sure some sun and playtime would help with the flus, he’s so pale,” he remembers one of his aunts saying through the screen where Sakusa can speak to his parents. His mother nodded with a tight smile.

Sakusa as a child was just as blunt as present Sakusa. “I play outside all the time.” He remembers his mother, bags heavy under her eyes with worry, giving him a short glare. 

All his relatives’ visits were like this. Their pity at his bad roll of the dice at the genetics of health was annoying and even more so when all he had to look at was the IV pumping antibiotics into him and the ceiling.

He got to know his friend MRSA very well as a result of his boredom. His doctor was a kind woman who answered his questions as truthfully as possible, and the Sakusa of today credits her bedside manner as the reason why he decided to become a doctor.

“ _Staphylococcus aureus_ is a bacterium that you caught from your checkup here; it colonized your nostrils, and when you were sick from the flu, it saw its chance and infected your lungs,” she says. “We’re doing nose swabs, sputum tests, and blood tests to see how your infection is receding with the different antibiotics we try on you.”

“Why do you stick a needle into my chest?” That was the worst part.

“That’s for your empyema, which is what happens when there’s pus between the space of your lungs and the chest wall,” she says, pointing at a diagram. “It usually occurs after pneumonia. We have to drain it.”

“It hurts.”

She sighs. “It does. I’m sorry we can’t do more about that; we don’t want to overload your body with a higher dosage of painkillers alongside the antibiotics that are also pretty high. Here’s hoping vancomycin does the trick.”

And it did. And since then, Sakusa’s been rigorous with his habits, wearing masks to decrease contact with sneezes and coughs, wiping down things he comes into contact with, picking an apartment with in-house laundry so he can wash his clothes as soon as he’s done wearing them, eating properly and sleeping well (usually).

Sakusa blinks the memory away when he sees the packages of linezolid his supervisor comes back with. This is an alternative to vancomycin he hadn’t tried because the vancomycin was successful. His supervisor thinks that the MRSA might have been community spread by the midwife who makes trips in and out of the town to the city for her job; everyone dutifully uses the nasal antibiotic ointment and antimicrobial wipes as well as repeats their testing to ensure the MRSA is gone.

When Sakusa enters the boy’s bedroom, the boy shrinks in fear at the IV drip and needle. He sits on the chair next to the bed and holds the IV line in his gloved hands.

“Hey,” he greets. “Do you have any questions? I’ll answer all of them, if it might help you feel better.”

“Any question? My sister says some of them can be stupid.”

“Any question. None are stupid.”

“What’s – what’s mer-sah?”

Sakusa squares his shoulders. “Who didn’t tell you the _cause_ of your pneumonia? That’s rude, since you’re the one sick.” The boy laughs a little, and Sakusa launches into the spiel his doctor gave him. The boy relaxes enough halfway through that Sakusa can insert the needle and start the treatment. 

He returns every eight hours to administer the dose and monitor symptoms for a total of 10 days before the infection clears. They stay an extra week to make sure he doesn’t develop empyema and test positive for the MRSA strain. When he doesn’t, there is a collective sigh of relief for a multitude of reasons: that they have cleared the colonization, that there were no further complications that needed a trip to the hospital, that the first drug they tried didn’t have an allergic reaction and was effective, that they can leave the community safely.

On the train home, Sakusa feels much more settled and calmer than when he first left his apartment. This trip affirms exactly why he pursues medicine so doggedly and studies so hard: to be part of the growing numbers that provide help to those who need it, to diagnose quickly and with minimal error, so they won't have to stay in the hospital for as long as he did. The 10 days of antibiotics without the typical empyema after pneumonia is almost ideal. With an opportunity like this, especially with the extended stay and lack of supplies, Sakusa truly feels like he was able to help.

Atsumu is sitting on the bench when Sakusa gets off the train station after Sakusa mustered up the courage on the train to text him he was on the way home. He waves cheerfully, as if Sakusa’s outburst never happened.

“Hey, Omi-kun, welcome back. Thanks for lettin’ me know you’d be late last week; if ya didn’t, I’d probably thought ya died or somethin’,” Atsumu says. “Y’want me to take a bag?”

Sakusa hands him the suitcase to pull behind him. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Of all times, his ability to communicate seems to fail him now, and they walk the two blocks home in silence. Sakusa’s stomach twists and turns and his scowl deepens with his inner turmoil. Is Atsumu angry? When is a good time to apologize? Why did he come out to pick him up when the train station is two blocks away from their apartment, it’s 11am on a Saturday? He’s pretty sure Atsumu isn’t functional before noon on weekends? Normally Atsumu would wheedle an apology out of him by now? So why isn’t he?

They get to their floor and Atsumu hands over Sakusa’s key with a stiff smile.

“Your bear paw is still alive, don’tcha worry. I cleaned the place each week so it wouldn’t get dusty, but I bet you're gonna agree my standards of what’s clean are definitely different to yours, Omi-Omi.”

The whirl of anxiety spins itself out into fatigue when he sees the fake bright grin, and Sakusa is entirely too tired to deal with his wild brain and its seventy different possible outcomes to every decision he makes with the combination of Atsumu pretending there’s nothing wrong about how Sakusa behaved weeks ago. 

He unlocks the door, shoves his stuff into the entryway, and drags Atsumu into his apartment to push him up against the door. Atsumu flushes immediately at their proximity and he rears back.

“Omi-kun? What –“

Sakusa squeezes his eyes shut and feels the words spill. 

“I hate being pitied because pity isn’t productive, and all your fucking comments about the ‘backwoods’ town ticked me off because it felt like you pitied me for being sent out there, with you and your high and mighty city lawyer shit. I looked forward to it and enjoyed it and encountered a fucking deadly bacterial strain and conquered the fuck out of that, god bless linezolid, and I should’ve told you what you said bothered me instead of letting it build up on top of my stress and then taking it out on you. You were just trying to take care of me. I’m sorry. Can we please sleep, I don’t care that it’s 11am, I’m so fucking tired.”

He hears a fond, exasperated huff. "Omi-kun, if you wanted to get me into bed with ya, all you had to do was say so.” Atsumu shrugs as best as he can against the door, face still pink. “Honestly, just draggin’ me there would've been easy enough."

Sakusa pulls him from the door, fisting his hands in his sweater, and Atsumu grins at Sakusa’s own blush like he thinks he's won. Sakusa opens the door and begins pushing him out.

"Wait – wait," Atsumu laughs, grasping Sakusa by the elbows with two warm hands. "I'm sorry, ‘m sorry, let's sleep, I just couldn't help it, Omi-Omi. It's been weeks, and I – I missed you." His eyes soften.

Atsumu voicing his longing so clearly seems to break something open in Sakusa, something that matches. It's like hearing Atsumu say it allows him to feel the brunt of how much Sakusa missed being home.

It’s this moment when he realizes that he, too, has missed Atsumu – has missed everything, the smug set of his eyes, how he laughs with his entire body, the way his cheeks bunch up when he grins. He’s missed cooking dinner and bickering about the seasoning and complaining about their classmates to each other. He’s missed Atsumu, and finally admitting this to himself means he can practically see his neurons fizzing from this heavy dose of his drug of choice – Atsumu himself – after weeks of withdrawal.

The bloom of affection sits at his sternum and it radiates, like pain, out across his ribcage. Sakusa feels it lodge itself in his trachea, thump in his aorta, spill out into his arteries, capillaries, back up through the vena cava, his right atrium and ventricle, and spread through his lungs. 

He’s been inhaling and exhaling it since he left three weeks ago; the inexplicable feeling of having missed someone and of enjoying their company so much it feels like a phantom limb when they’re not around. If he looks in the mirror now at his chest, at his pounding heart, would the phantom pain ease as it does for people with missing limbs? If he looks in the mirror now, at his face, what would the mirror reflect?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Sakusa’s heart attests to that; he’s not only fond, but has fallen, endorphins associated with everything that has to do with Atsumu. 

  
Sakusa swallows. "I missed you too," he mumbles, and then he's pulling Atsumu into the bedroom in earnest, the breathiness of Atsumu's laughter echoing down the hallway.

* * *

They don’t actually sleep once they get settled; Atsumu’s stomach growls not even two minutes in to lying beside each other on the bed and Sakusa can barely hear his explanation about how he hadn’t eaten yet, Omi-kun, he was solely subsisting this morning on how much he missed Sakusa except he woke up just in time to make it to the train station, because it’s muffled in the pillow while he laughs at how loud the noise was.

Sakusa doesn’t have any proper food in the apartment right now, having carefully eaten his way through the fresh food so there would be nothing left that would rot before he went on his trip. There’s nothing substantial in the freezer compartment either.

Atsumu drags them both out to his apartment and boasts about how he’s got something special planned.

“Omi-kun, you’re a bag of skin and bones, lemme make us somethin’.”

“Technically the human body is a bag of water.”

“Don’t ruin my appetite.”

Sakusa sits at the kitchen table and slumps onto it a bit, the exhaustion of travelling and being away from home starting to set in. He watches Atsumu hum his way through his cooking because Sakusa gets pushed back to sit if he even offers to help. 

The late morning sun filters in soft and golden, hitting the kitchen so that Atsumu doesn’t need to turn on the stovetop light. It reflects off the floor, the stove, the fridge, turns Atsumu’s blonde hair white at the tips, cuts across his skin in strips just so, and all of this glory beams into Sakusa’s retinas with such intensity that he blinks away spots in his vision. This moment is so different to the fried rice they had the first time they were in here, when the kitchen was dark with more than just the night. 

Sakusa props his head up with one hand and closes his eyes to bask in it like a cat in a prime spot of sun. Or a cold-blooded lizard warming up. He thinks he is both, in Atsumu’s light.

“Earth to Omi-Omi, let’s eat,” Atsumu says, dropping a plate in front of Sakusa. He opens his eyes and there lies one of the many banes of his existence.

It’s an American hamburger.

Sakusa controls his expression; it’s not his favourite food, not when you need to grab it with both hands and the pieces slide all out of place. But Atsumu made it, sliced the buns, the lettuce, the tomato, fried the frozen beef patties, lovingly spread the condiments, washed his hands with overexaggerated flair every time he switched between the meat and the vegetables, so Sakusa is going to eat it, and by God, enjoy it. 

“Like I said, you’re skin n’ bones, so this will definitely fill you up,” Atsumu is saying, and Sakusa grabs their glasses to fill them with water, wash his hands, and discreetly pick up a fork and a knife from the cupboard. 

“I ate plenty on my trip.”

“Yeah, but that was like, _natto_ , right?”

“It’s healthy.”

“But is it filling?”

“I didn’t just have natto by the shovelful, there was a lot more – “ Atsumu waves him off, picking up his burger, and Sakusa eyes his own like it’s going to jump at his face.

He ends up slicing into it like a cake and once Atsumu sees it he chokes on a bite. 

“Oh, fuck, Omi-kun,” he wheezes, taking a sip of water. “’M sorry, I didn’t think – I just thought like _hey, you’re back in the city, time for some good gross food,_ and I was cravin’ – “

“I’m eating it,” Sakusa says, stubbornly. “You made it. I’m eating it. And doing the dishes after.” 

Atsumu nods, eyes wide, seemingly understanding the monumental effort Sakusa is putting in for him. They get impossibly wider when Sakusa growls in frustration at the difficulty of slicing and separates his burger components around on his plate. Sakusa essentially assembles a little burger bite on his fork every time; A piece of the top bun, the vegetables, the patty, then a piece of the bottom bun.

“Stop _staring_ ,” Sakusa mutters. He glowers at Atsumu, who lifts his burger to hide his face.

“It’s just really fascinating, Omi-kun,” Atsumu replies. “Does it taste okay?”

Sakusa nods back. “It’s fine.”

“You think you’d make a housewife out of me, Omi-Omi?” Sakusa snorts.

“And eat like this? You’re lucky I didn’t just leave when you served it.”

“And abandon our family like that?”

“My bear paw succulent is not a child.”

Atsumu gasps, mock-affronted. “But I fed him! Sheltered him! Every day for a _month_ , Omi-Omi.”

“If you did water it every day, I’d have to relinquish custody. Every day is too much. I think you’re killing it.”

“Ha! So we have custody of him, do we? I’m a lawyer. We’re going to court so I can see him every other weekend.”

“You can just have it if you want it that badly.” Sakusa keeps his eyes on his fork as he builds another bite. “And you if want to come over every other weekend, you should’ve just said so instead of barging into my place to 'study'. We’re literally neighbours.”

When he looks up to gauge Atsumu’s reaction, he doesn’t expect the faint blush and shocked expression. He wills his facial capillaries to keep from dilating so he doesn’t flush along with Atsumu. 

“That was smooth, Omi-Omi. I’ve grown on ya, haven’t I?”

“Like a persistent fungal infection,” Sakusa deadpans. 

“But would you take antibiotics to get rid of me?”

“I’d take anti-fungals, antibiotics work on bacteria.”

“Shut up.” Sakusa’s mouth twists to hide his laughter and Atsumu grins in triumph. “And here I thought you _missed_ me.” The emphasis does not get lost on Sakusa and he fidgets at how he’d said it earlier. Then he stops and puts his fork and knife down, because he’s just figured out how he’s going to win this, once and for all.

“Not just that,” he starts, with a deep breath, expression clear. His heart rate picks up and he silently curses it. Atsumu raises an eyebrow, waiting for a smart response. 

He looks right at Atsumu this time. “I like you.”

Atsumu drops his burger. 

Sakusa feels his face scrunch right back into a scowl, like a rubber band snapping, when some of the ketchup on Atsumu’s plate flies onto the table.

“Omi-kun!”

“ _What_ ,” Sakusa snaps, irritable. 

“You can’t just – _say_ that – what – “

“Oh, so you flirting incessantly is fine but when _I_ come out and say it, I can’t. And I can’t _say_ it? What was I supposed to do, send a letter? To you next door?” 

“It’d be easier for me to have physical proof; god knows you’d deny it if I try gettin’ it out of ya for a second time.”

“I like you, Atsumu,” Sakusa says, and feels his face do a smug thing when Atsumu literally gurgles.

“Say it again, Omi-kun.”

“No.”

“Fucker.”

“Excuse me? You didn’t give me an answer. I’m not here to be a broken record.” At that, Atsumu sits back and twiddles his thumbs, shy.

“I, um, hrmm,” Atsumu says, looking properly constipated, and Sakusa inhales through his nose slowly so he doesn’t start laughing. He raises his eyebrows at Atsumu who holds up one finger with one hand and has the other in a fist pressed against his mouth.

“We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, we do, you asshole, it’s Saturday.” Sakusa resumes his silence.

“Omi-kun, I –“ and he coughs. “I like you too, Omi-kun. Lots.”

“Gross,” Sakusa says. He continues eating as if nothing happened. 

“ _Fuck_ you, I _hate_ you,” Atsumu laughs, covering his face with both hands, which matches the tomato slice that’s halfway out of his abandoned burger. 

“Wash your hands before you start eating, you touched your face.”

“Guess who’s fault is that, huh?”

Sakusa hums. “No comment. I will take responsibility though.”

“That sounds kinda hot, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, and gets the tissue covered in the ketchup on the table thrown in his face for good measure.

**Author's Note:**

> title of work and chapter titles from carly rae jepsen's [fever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5trnA5UEnUY).
> 
> thank you for reading!


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